This morning SWMBO made us each some tasty, thick juices. My cup looked as if it had — how shall I put this? — organically cleansed itself a little after taking aboard the excellent juices.
My brief pause while I considered this attracted attention from the skilled assembler, who self-consciously volunteered that she had gone to "scroop" the "fluff" from the cup "head". I carefully and straight-facedly explained that I would look somewhat the same if anyone tried to "scroop" anything from my head at this point, and illustrated by pointing under my stack-hat. My lovely SWMBO had to cling to the kitchen benches and to the sink for a minute or so to avoid folding in half with laughter onto the kitchen floor.
Small Sir was complaining about having to eat his juice; he claimed that he was “too full” which has gradually become a thin and generic replacement for “I don’t want to eat this” over the last month or so. We explained that he would get pancakes after completing the juice, which vanished downthroat within perhaps 2 minutes.
The juice was then followed by at least eight pancakes including such fast-eating diet loads as peanut butter and vegemite, and then quite a few minutes (with no visible sign of suffering) of full-tilt rebounding from the 8x4 trampoline in the pool.
That trampoline takes a little elucidation: the previous tenant had despised the effort involved in cleaning the below-ground pool, so one day pumped it dry and refilled it with sand; a lawn eventually took it over. Upon this “pool” lives the larger trampoline.
Small Sir seemed highly unwilling to discuss how full he felt at this point in time. The secret lies — I am convinced — entirely in the perception.